Runnaway
by justwriteandwriteandwrite
Summary: running away doesn't solve problems. although if you're Sam Puckett, it seems to.
1. Problem

**Runnaway.**

_Chapter 1: Problem_

* * *

I have always been the one to run away from my problems, instead of facing them head on. Even though people see me as vicious, aggressive and almost like a monster, the reality of it is... I am afraid.

Like most people are afraid of getting hurt.

Here is the situation, just straight. Like it is. Well, "straight" probably isn't the best way to describe it. A play on words. Try to keep up with me, and I'll give you a medal. Just kidding. I don't have any medals to give away today. Where was I? Oh yes. The situation.

I like my best friend.

You're probably thinking... 'So? Everyone has a best friend, and they like them. That's the whole point.' No, you don't understand. I _like _my best friend, who happens to be the prettiest girl in the whole world, or I think so anyway.

Okay, so now you're thinking 'this chick is crazy' or 'this girl is insane'. I am being deadly serious. Better than being seriously dead.

We were getting all dressed up and read to go out to some random party that we were invited to, since we were the famous iCarly webshow hostesses and all that chiz. Carly was in a short white dress (which I wanted to rip her out of, right then and there) and was pouting as she looked in the mirror.

I had been pining for her love and affection for a couple of months now. She never seemed to notice. Or maybe she did know about it and I chose to ignore that, for my own blissful state of mind.

"All I am saying," Carly says, flicking her hair around. "It'd be nice to get more from him."

"Carly," I reply. "Maybe he's just an idiot. Maybe you should try someone else more worthy of you."

Someone like me.

I didn't have the courage to just come out and say it and it made me feel weak. There was nothing worse than feeling weak or inferior. That's what my father used to always say to me and Melanie before he disappeared mysteriously.

"If Jason won't call, won't text or email... then he's lost the battle."

"You make it sound so dramatic and like a war, Sam," giggles Carly. "I'm in love with this guy. I don't want to lose him."

"Okay," I say.

It's the end of our little conversation. But there is so much more I want to say to her. And there is so much more I want to do to or with her.

Sorry. My dirty mind is playing tricks on me.

"So, how do I look?" Carly asks, twirling around gracefully.

Like the sexiest woman alive.

I eye her up and down, trying not to be so obvious as I check her out. Her firm, round butt was wriggling, and those small breasts were probably itching for a slow sensual massage. Again, she stuck out her lips in the most seductive manner. The girl had no idea what effect she had on me.

"Nice," I say, almost choking on my own tongue, and immediately feel the need to slap myself, hard. "Very nice."

Smooth, Puckett. Real smooth.

"I need a necklace."

"Okay."

I turn around and want to bury my head into the carpet on Carly's bedroom.

When I hear the sound of a clearing throat, I face my best friend only to find her standing directly behind me. I knock her over as I spin around quickly, she grabs onto me and we both fall onto her bed, limbs tangling together and in fits of embarrassed giggles. Both of us are still laughing, as Carly rolls on top of me.

Her pretty eyes were sparkling in excitement and happiness.

Slowly, without really thinking about what I was actually doing, I slid one of my hands around her waist gently and the other hand rested around her neck carefully. I rubbed my fingers on the back of her neck and watched her close her eyes softly.

Taking this as a "moment", and forgetting everything I had taught myself up to this very second.

I leaned up and pressed my mouth to hers.


	2. Trisha Owens

**Runnaway.**

_Chapter 2: Trisha Owens_

* * *

It wasn't like she was ignoring me for the remainder of that evening but I was a little disappointed anyway because of her reaction. You know, after I... kissed her. Which wasn't by accident. The kiss, I mean. The only thing I could see was flames and sparks of electricity, flying everywhere.

I don't know, I'm still reeling from its intensity.

Freddie once said: "You kissing me was pretty intense." That was after I broke his heart and dumped his nerdy little butt. We didn't 'click' in _that _way.

It was a lie. I lied to cover my feelings, as I always do.

"Sam! Samantha Puckett!" calls out a melodic voice. "Yoo hoo! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

The voice belonged to none other than the most popular girl in school. Trisha Owens.

Just to give you an idea, of what she looks like. The girl is drop-dead gorgeous. Her curly hair swirls down past her waist, her bright green emerald eyes are always sparkling and she has the body of a Goddess. All volumptuous, curvy in just the right places and her legs are long and toned. Everytime she approaches me, her teeth almost knock me out because of their immense whiteness. But she's a killer.

I don't mean she kills people, like literally. I only mean, she eats boys up for breakfast and spits them out before halfway to lunchtime.

"Trisha," I reply. "What's up?"

"I heard that Freddie Benson likes Carly Shay. They're your friends, right?"

A little green monster stirs inside the pit of my stomach and it lifts its head slowly, sniffing for disaster.

"Yeah," I say, keeping my cool as always. I won't let this get in the way of anything. It's just a stupid rumor.

"I'd watch your back, if were you. They could be over in a corner, making out, as we speak."

I shudder involuntarily. She walks off in search of another helpless, probably drunk victim. That's when I see Freddie, coming toward me. Fortunately we're already over that awkward "ex-boyfriend/ex-girlfriend vs best friend" stage.

"Hi," he says, looking down at his shoes.

"Hello dork."

He always has nice shoes. But I never tell him so. Like now, they have stripes and a number '9' printed on the sides. He's shuffling his feet nervously and the only reason I'm telling you all of this, is because I'm currently staring at his feet. For some reason, I can't look him in the eye.

So as I was saying.

Fortunately we're over that awkward stage of the break up.

"You seen Carly anywhere?"

In my dreams. In my _wildest, wettest, wackiest _ dreams. But I'd never say that to Fredward of all people. He's just a nerd.

Everyone knows nerds are the causes of rumors starting. How did I work that out, you ask. Well. I figure that nerds are by far the most intelligent species in a school environment and they have worked out that "rumors" are the key to developing a higher social status. Therefore...

Wow. I need food, stat. My brain is going all smart and it scares me.

"No." A solid answer, Puckett.

"Oh, okay then. Well, see ya."

And just like that. He's gone again.

It's weird because he usually sticks around and chats about endless Galaxy Invasions or whatever the heck he goes on and on about, while I pretend to listen, but really I have _totally_ zoned out. I'm picturing my best friend in a tight red bikini. Giggling and tossing that head of perfectly shiny hair around while splashing through the gentle rolling waves...

Mentally, I slap myself in the forehead. Physically...

I go pour myself a drnk from the punch bowl, while watching some guys cheering on a red-headed chick, who's apparently in the middle of a strip tease.

As I take a gulp of the punch, and slowly come to recognise who the girl actually was... I immediately spray it out through my mouth and nose in complete shock. People around me are laughing, because they think it's funny. I don't care about them. I don't care about their laughing and stupidity.

My only focus was Trisha Owens, standing on the table in nothing but her skimpy underwear.


	3. Not, not Thinking About It NOT!

**_Author's Note: My fingers were so itchy, I HAD TO upload this today. _**

**_I would like to make a special mention to two lovely fanfiction authors who have continually encouraged and supported (and reviewed!) this story right from the beginning. Thank you so so sooo much to 'Invader Johnny' and also 'NothingMakesSense'. Please check out their work. The stories I have read are awesome!_**

**_Disclaimer: Today, iCarly. Tomorrow, the WORLD. (just kidding. Dan Schneider owns 'iCarly' and all of its characters)_**

**_Warning: _'T' Rating May Change to 'M' For Upcoming Adult Themes (probably Chapter 5 or 6)**

* * *

**Runnaway.**

_Chapter 3: Not, Not Thinking About It - NOT!_

* * *

It was the next day. The whole of last night seemed to just flash by in one single chapter.

Oh. Funny about that!

It did.

I had come over to talk to Carly about a few things when I ran into her older brother, who was once again, working on some art piece for some willing company to buy from him. He was never going to make the "Top 10 Richest Men in the USA" list, that's for sure.

Walking into the Shay's apartment, just like every other day, I stop and take a seat on the stool beside the kitchen counter.

"Will you ever grow up?" I ask the man, who is painting dots on a newly made sculpture of a tomato.

"No, probably not. That's why I'm hoping to marry a woman exactly like me." Spencer replies. "Then we shall RULE THE WORLD!"

The man does a freakishly evil laugh and then continues painting.

I roll my eyes, hop off the stool and go to sit on the couch. I am not thinking about what I had saw the previous night and I am not thinking about the gorgeous Trisha Owens. I am _definitely _not thinking about what Freddie and Carly could be doing together, up in the iCarly studio. Even though I always swear, black and blue, the guy hasn't gone past making out with a girl, in his life.

We never got far, I'm telling you now. Although we discussed... it... We never went there. Much to my irriation. Not saying that I wanted to...

Okay! Fine! I did want to. Maybe I still... kinda... want to?

He _is _cute. Can you blame mama for wanting to check out what is "under the hood"?

I straighten my back and peer over the counter slightly, to look at the man before me. Tall and kind of strong looking. Not overly muscular or anything. Kind of like Freddie in a way... This is another "hood" I wouldn't mind checking out, one day.

"You _so_ need a girlfriend, Spence," I say and lay down on the couch, lazily.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

I never repeat myself if I can help it. Otherwise it takes up far too much energy and wastes it pointlessly. I'd rather waste that energy on eating fried chicken, or making out with Trisha. Carly! No. Freddie! Or Spencer?

Ugh!

I don't know _what _I am or should be thinking anymore!

Besides, in relation to the Spencer's girlfriend thing, I've never said anything directly to him about it. But maybe that's because I figured that it was just a hopeless mission.

Or I just had a little crush on him. I accidentally revealed that once, after being on the end of another ridiculous prank, that Spence had made up. Plexi-Glass. In front of the elevator. Freddie and I just walked right into it without even seeing it. Well it was clear! And I was so furious and fed up with pranks for the week.

I casually sit up and glance over at him.

Now, he's sticking some popsicle sticks on the side of the "masterpiece" and smiling like it actually counts for a contribution to world peace or something. To non-artists, it'd be known as "stash of glued together junk". To artists, it's known as stash of glued together junk.

I see it as creativity, and I'm sure he does to. That's the thing with me and Spencer Shay. We have always _clicked _with one another when it came down to art and such.

Carly, on the other hand, is a terrible artist.

"You seem downheartened today, kiddo. Is everything okay?"

No, Spencer. Everything is _not _okay.

I am in love with my best friend. Freddork is most likely secretly dating the one I love. I am lusting after what is considered the sexiest girl on the planet who is most likely not interested in me (other than to gossip about the most pointless things!).

And I am here, talking to an artist who's biggest problem was 'playing dodgeball on naked day'. Which I would have loved to see. That's beside the point.

I just wasted a whole minute thinking about this.

"I'm fine."

I am clearly _not _fine. At least Spencer buys my lame attempt to convince him that nothing is wrong with me. But then again, guys can be so unobservant.

Got to get out of these four walls! I think I'm going crazy!

Maybe a walk down to the Groovy Smoothie will help clear my otherwise scrambled thoughts.


	4. Goose, Goose, Gibby!

**Runnaway.**

_Chapter 4: Goose, Goose, Gibby _

* * *

The Groovy Smoothie is probably one of the most fun and exciting places, especially at lunch time. Today, a pair of old ladies are fighting over T-Bo's stick of bell peppers. No, I'm not kidding. They are going for it! I'm sitting here, fliming it with my pearphone video camera just to upload onto the iCarly website for later.

"Women, please!" T-Bo yells, being tossed from one side of the room to the other.

I just laugh. It's the first time in probably two days, that I've laughed this hard. In fact, I was almost crying, it was so hilarious. Maybe it's just because they remind me of when Carly and I used to have fights, like when we were younger.

We're more mature now. We don't fight physically.

Although sometimes, I wish we did.

"Hi Sam, nice pants," said a voice.

"Yo Gib," I say, automatically.

I know it's him, because no one else I know would be hanging around some old ladies at the Groovy Smoothie at tweve oh something in the afternoon. Yeah, he's a weird kid and kinda chubby. His jokes are lame and sometimes he wears ugly shirts that could have belonged to the 1950's. But Carly accepts him as a friend. So Freddoofus and I just go with it. It's too hard and too much effort to complain or argue. Especially with Carly, because she's so nice, sweet, perfect and accepting of everyone. At least he's kind of useful when it comes to "test subjects" for "experiments" we do on our webshow.

Our webshow, as Spencer has said once before, is weird.

"You seen Freddie anywhere?"

"Probably with Shay," I reply, with a shrug.

I really want to know what he's up to. And with _whom _he is doing "up to" with.

A small voice tells me I already know, but I ignore it and shake my head quickly.

Gibby takes a seat and points over to the old ladies, still in their 'bell pepper' fight. He's grinning like a maniac. But somehow I want to know what is going on in that brain of his. Knowing the guy, it could be either dangerous or stupid, or both. I'm down with that sort of chiz though. Anytime. Anyday. Anywhere.

As he talks about something Guppy or his mother said but I'm not paying attention.

That is until he stands up, and walks over to the two old ladies. As he approaches them it looked like a mouse walking into a den with two hungry lions. I turned on the video camera of my pearphone and just started recording. We needed some more comedy skits for anyways.

"Good afternoon," he says, cheerfully.

Gibby is generally a happy-go-lucky type of person. But the women glared at him, ready to pounce any second.

Five...

"What do you want, little fat boy?" One of the women asked.

Four...

"For you to stop this argument."

Three...

"You may want to top the garment, but mind your own beeswax, mister!" Shouted the other, probably deaf or something.

Two...

"Hey! There's no need to- OW!"

One, zero.

"Approach us with your scheming ideas, don't you, little man! We are ladies and ought to be respected!"

"Owww! Can you st- Ouch, that was my eye! Please, I didn't- Argh!"

The old ladies had picked up their handbags and just started whacking Gibby over the head, or anywhere else they could find. I was sitting, in the Groovy Smoothie, laughing my head off at two partly deaf and senile old women, hitting a younger boy, repetitvely. It was hilarious.

T-Bo tried to interfere or break it up, but only ended up getting hurt too. Which only made me laugh more.

About twenty minutes, or so it seemed, of the arguing, hitting and carrying on, the women gave up and left the store, arm-in-arm and the best of friends again. The old ladies were fine, and it was as if they'd never started the argument in the first place. The same could not be said for Gibby, who was laying on the ground, covering his head and curled up in a fetal position.

I walked over and nudged his ribs with my foot, carelessly.

"Get up, nub," I say.

"Are they g-gone?" Gibby asks, scrambling to his feet and looking around, quickly.

"You're safe."

Gibby wipes his forehead and exhales slowly and probably in relief too. Then his eyes widen and his mouth drops open in shock. I turn around to look at what his problem is, and I see Carly and Freddie.

Now, usually, that's not such a big deal for me. Because we hang out together all the time.

This is _not _usually.

My eyes trail over their crumpled clothes, messy hair and odd looking facial expressions.

Gibby shuffles his feet awkwardly while standing next to me. I just shake my head and roll my eyes at the whole thing. It's beyond my comprehension of course. But one little thing flashes through my mind. This one little thing was what Trisha Owens had said to me at the party last night.

I watch them walk back out of the Groovy Smoothie, in shame. My heart sank to the lowest of low depths.

"The rumor was true," whispered Gibby. "They're not _just _dating. They're actually going at it!"

"Gibby!" I snap, irritably.

This day couldn't get any worse.


	5. At Home

**Runnaway. **

_Chapter 5: At Home_

* * *

"Home sweet home."

That's what anyone else would say after all the things I have been through within the past twenty-four hours. I'm not like anyone else though. My house isn't big or fancy and sometimes I wondered whether it'd ever feel like my actual home. That's why I spend so much time with my best friend, at her apartment.

I usually sleep on Spencer's couch, dreaming of what I'd do to his younger sister, if she happened to come downstairs at that moment.

It was always something dirty.

Meanwhile, I zone out completely. Thinking about some revved up fantasy that I know will never happen in a million years.

* * *

_"I so need you right now..." I murmur, into the girl's neck._

_"Take your clothes off then," she says, in a sweet voice while she undresses_ _herself._

_We both climb into bed together and slide under the sheets and blankets. We tangled our arms and legs together and kissed each other everywhere that was possible to reach. __She rolls me over, onto my back and straddles my lap, while leaning over and kneading my breasts with her long, delicate fingers. Her devious eyes sparkle with passion and lust, which seems to be burning up my insides. __I grab her hands, close my eyes and let out of soft moan. _

_I sit up slowly, and feel her lips slide down my neck with small, soft kisses. Her legs wrap around my hips and she's carefully grinding her pussy against mine. __That just elevates my desire to have her. _

_I'm hungry and somehow I feel that I cannot contain it any longer._

_"Carly," I whisper._

_"Yes, Sammy?" she whispers back._

_"Do you love me?"_

_There is no response but as Carly looks into my eyes, and I into hers, somehow the answer just falls into place._

_I push her back down onto her bed, gently and lean down, pressing my mouth against hers, this time more forceful and heated. I'm sure she can notice the difference now, because she kisses back with the same amount of intensity as me. _

_We're oblivious to yesterday. We're oblivious to tomorrow. But the moment, here and now, is all we care to think about._

_Her palm slides along my already wet opening, one of my hands reaches around her waist while the other explores her moistened pussy lips. I shudder because of how much this girl turns me on. Which is quite a lot._

_Right now, it's just pure magical bliss..._

* * *

I'm jolted out of my fantasy by the loud ringing of our house phone, but notice that my boxers are just a little bit wetter than normal and my hand was rubbing against my crotch, still over my pants.

It would've been rather awkward had my mother walked in the room right at that moment. Too bad she did.

"Sam, get the phone," she calls out, walking right past it.

I know I'm not the most intelligent person around, but surely she could have just picked it up as she passed it? Maybe that's a dumb suggestion. I rub my hands on my pants and pick up the constantly ringing phone. I'm not in the mood for anyone stupid to be on the other end of it.

"Hello?"

"Yes, hi, erm, this is Jack, is Pam Puckett there?"

Jack has to be the most stupidest people I know, excluding Fredward Benson. He just tops the list. The man sells plastic pumpkin lanterns for Halloween Parties every year. Mom is obsessed with him. Like _really _obsessed. I don't want to discuss that in deep detail right now.

"Yeah." I hold the phone out toward my mom. "It's Jack the Ripper for you."

"Ooh," she says, grinning. "Gimme, gimme!"

"All yours."

Before I could throw up at the cuteness of the whole situation, I left the kitchen.

Going to bed seemed like the only thing that I was able to do, without hurting myself anymore. So that's exactly what I did.


	6. Knowing All Too Well

**Runnaway.**

_Chapter 6: Knowing All Too Well_

* * *

It was an average Monday. I was leaning up against my locker and looking around for any signs of Carly, or Freddie. Since I hadn't spoken to them after seeing them yesterday. I was still pretty cut-up about that.

Shrugging my shoulders, I decide that it's pointless just waiting around. I'm about to head off to my first class, when I hear some doors burst open and running footsteps.

"Sam! Sam Puckett! Hey! Sam!" A voice yells, from like the other side of the hallway.

I stop and turn around.

As she runs towards me, her breasts are bouncing up and down and her red curls are flying behind her. And her bright white teeth are all in a perfect grin. None other than Trisha Owens. Some images immediately fly through my mind, right at that moment, and I'm taken all the way back to Saturday night. The party. The punch bowl.

"Hi Trisha," I say, less than excited.

"What's wrong, gorgeous? You don't look happy today."

My heart just jumped as she spoke. I tried to keep my eyes in line with hers, which was so hard, since her cleavage was almost falling out of the low-cut tank top she happened to be wearing.

"I-I'm fine."

So totally not fine.

If I wasn't so turned on right now, I'd be falling through a hole in the floor or a puddle on the ground, beside my locker. Seriously, this girl was the hottest woman you could ever lay your eyes on. I so wanted to have her right then and there, but I knew I couldn't.

"Why don't," she says, dropping her voice to a low whisper. "We talk about whatever it is, that's bothering you. Outside the Janitor's closet at say, fourth period?"

"Uhhh, I..."

It wasn't that I didn't know what to say.

Her fingers were trailing my hand, very softly and every time she did it, I felt tingles.

"You don't have anything _better _to do then, do you?"

Trisha slowly winds her hand around mine, twisting our fingers together and leans onto me. I close my eyes and try to calm my heart beat down.

She must have known that I always skip fourth period, because it's right before lunch, and seriously. Who wants to study stuff when your stomach's talking or yelling angrily at you because it's hungry? I figured, ages ago, that it was more beneficial to just skip class and have a before lunch snack.

Her other hand slides its way over my hip and as she backs me up against the set of lockers, behind us, her body presses right against mine. This is too much.

Right now, my face be redder than a tomato covered in red-wine reduction sauce. That cannot be a good thing. People around us are staring awkwardly. My eyes swivel from one side to the other, nervously. I've never been so nervous in my life. I'm looking at Trisha and she's biting her lip gently, trying to hide a forming smirk.

"Just. Meet me there, okay sunshine? Don't keep me waiting."

And there she goes, off toward her first period, swinging those hips in the most sexy way as humanly possible. Man, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this girl was actually into me. But no. That couldn't be true. A couple of nights ago, she was tonguing just about every guy at that random party... Flirting... Mainly because they showed signs of being interested in her. Kind of like what I was doing now.

Oh My God!

Trisha Owens knows I'm into her. Well, that can't be a good thing. Maybe I'll go meet her in fourth period anyways.

Not like I have anything better to do.


	7. Stupid is, as Stupid does

**Runnaway.**

_Chapter 7: Stupid is, as Stupid does_

* * *

There are some people that don't even deserve to walk the face of this Earth, let alone Ridgeway High. Trisha Owens, is one of those people. Fredward and Carlotta, are two more of those people. I only say this because I caught them making out in the exact same place that Trisha said she'd be.

Now I feel stupid.

But hey, I'm getting a little bit ahead of myself here, let me rewind a bit so you can hear the full story.

I didn't have anything better to do, so I skipped out on fourth period, which happened to be math class, so I'm partially glad I did miss it. I hate school and math is one of the _worst _subjects in the history of all school subjects. Why bother with it, in the first place? It's not like we'll need it. Freddie keeps saying we will, but I disagree.

So, I was minding my own business, walking along the hall, without a hall pass and without any particular "legal excuse" for being out of class.

"Hey Sam, nice shoes," says a quiet voice. It was Gibby.

"Thanks, what up Giblet?"

Then I actually look up and notice his face a lot paler than usual. Like he'd just seen a ghost or something. There's a part of me that feels a little sorry for the chubby boy but another part that wants to punch him in the face, because he somewhat irritates me. The way he just shows up when the situation gets bad, the way he's always there for me, unlike my other best friends... wow. Gibby is my friend. Hmm.

"Don't go into the janitor's closet."

His voice was raspy and his eyes were wide with fear. I never really knew the word 'fear', and really, I had no cause to ever be afraid. Or so I thought.

"What's in there?"

I was feeling very curious.

"Just promise me," the boy whispered, grabbing my shoulders and staring into my face. "You _will not _go into the Janitor's closet."

"Sorry kid," I say, shrugging his hands off. "I don't promise stuff. To anyone. And if I do, it's usually broken anyways."

"Bad things," said Gibby, shaking his head and pulling away from me. "Bad, bad things."

Knowing Gibby, it couldn't have been that bad. I was very curious too, which made it all the worse. Of course, being a Sam Puckett, I had to investigate for myself. Puckett's never trust anyone else, other than our own kind. At least that's what my father kept saying, before he left to God know's where.

Trisha Owens was still nowhere to be seen, and Gibby was now walking off, probably to wash his eyes out or something, so that left me, by myself to slowly open the closet door and find...

Carly and Freddie.

The moment I saw them, together (and I do mean quite _together_) I slammed the door quickly and fled for my life. I saw nothing but anger and red all around me. As I ran, everything blurred and nothing slowed down to come into focus. Down the corridor, past the other classrooms and cafeteria, through the double doors and out into the empty school yard. I looked up at the sky and just screamed for all my worth.

Had anyone been around me that very moment, I would have torn his/her head off their shoulders. I hated Freddie. I hated Trisha. I hated Carly. And, worst of all, I hated myself because I really should have listened to the chubby kid, with all the weird ideas.

Because sometimes, like this time, he may just be right.


	8. Best Kind of Medicine

_**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting chapters of this story. Thank you for bearing with me though, it means a lot! I also apologize for the shortness of the previous chapter, but hopefully this one makes up for it. Again, thank you to the reviwers/favoriters/subscribers or whatever you call them nowadays. You all are awesome. Thank you! -JW**_

_****Just a little reminder, this story has been bumped up to 'M', for certain explicit content coming up.****_

* * *

**Runnaway.**

Chapter_ 8:_

* * *

_His hands all over her, their lips pressing against each others and their hips grinding with one another. It was sight for sore eyes. And I couldn't get it out of my head..._

* * *

"Miss Puckett, what were you doing out of fourth period today?"

"I'm not really in the mood for this, Ted." I say, placing my feet upon his desk.

"It's Principal Franklin, and you better be 'in the mood' young lady," said Principal Franklin, sternly. "Or I'll have no other choice but call your mother and put you in detention for another week."

"Oh no!" I exclaim, pretending to be shocked and scared. "Detention and phone call to mom, I'm _so _afraid."

"Samantha Joy Puckett," he says, almost standing up but regains composure. "Look, I don't want to expel you. You're a bright kid and you can graduate if you put in the effort for all your classes."

I stay quiet and don't look at him. If I look at Principal Franklin, I'll fold. I am _not _succumbing to weakness of "folding". Nope.

"I'm assigning you a 'study buddy'. G-"

"What? No!" I shout. Now he has my full attention.

"I see no other alternative, you are lagging behind your classmates and skipping every second class. Your teachers are very concerned. Gibby Gibson said he was more than happy to assist you..."

Concerned that they'll be fired, more like it.

Enough of this chiz. I am NOT being 'assigned a study buddy', what am I? Like, four years old? I don't think so. I stand up and walk out of the office, without a word.

No one chases me, so I'm guessing it's all over. For now. On the way out, I kick one of the lockers and storm off toward my own locker.

Only to find, Freddie standing there. I ignore him.

"Sam, I'm sorry you found out this way," he says, quietly.

My hand freezes, before unlocking my padlock on the locker door, I don't even dare to look him in the eye. I listen though, for what it's worth, which is pretty much nothing. He goes on and on about being sorry for this, that and the other. I don't really care, and I know it's all lies anyway.

"No," I reply. "You're sorry that I _did _catch you and her together. You're sorry _that _I found out, at all. You were never planning on telling me."

"That's not true, we-"

"Save it, Benson. I don't want to talk about it and I don't want to hear about it."

"Sam, I just-"

I raise my fist, just about ready to punch him, but then a voice stops me in my tracks. Freddie's cowering over and shielding himself from the almost pending attack. He was saved by the bell. Or at least, Trisha Owens.

"Don't hurt him!"

I spin around and slap the girl, across the face and she goes flying across the hall. She glares up at me, from the floor and I have had enough for one day, so I gather up my bag, shove my books into it and stalk off, down the hall and out of the double doors, again. For the second time that afternoon.

Walking home, I stop at my favorite place. The park.

Guess who I find there?

Yes, Carly little innocent Shay.

Another hated person on my list for today. But I knew it couldn't really last for long, since Shay had always had my back. And she was so pretty today, with that pink frilly skirt and high heels to match. Despite the anger and resentment, I wanted to touch whatever was under those clothes.

Shaking my head quickly, I sit down and dump my bag on the ground, beside me. Her hand immediately slides over mine, but I shake it off as soon as it's on there.

"Sam, I'm really sorry," Carly says, her voice shaking. "I told Freddie that we should tell you... it all happened so fast..."

"You're telling me."

"Please don't be mad."

I let out a bitter laugh.

Don't be mad? Why not? Don't be mad? I am fucking angry with two best friends, who have been sleeping and possibly having sex with each other, behind my back... one of which, I am deeply in love with... one of which, I just want to do a one night thing with... both of which, are secretly dating!

I am mad and have every stinking right to be!

They know why I'm so pissed off. Especially Carly. So, it makes me just infuriated for even coming here and being put through such hurt. It makes me feel like a complete idiot for not listening to Trisha, Gibby or anyone for that matter. I am an idiot.

Without another word, and avoiding eye-contact with the girl, I pick up my bag, swing it over my shoulder and walk away.

Almost home, when I see a Gibby, sitting on my front steps of my house. Or my mother's house, that is. I wonder what the hell he's doing there in the first place, and whether he really wants to be sitting there, waiting for me to come home. The angry lion, just about ready to pounce on any mouse.

Gibby Gibson, was a mouse.

"Gib, what are you doing here?"

"Principal Franklin sent me," he says, looking me straight in the eye. "He wants us to be together."

For what was most likely the first time that day, I burst out laughing. It was the greatest feeling of all time. One reason for being friends with the chubby nub, he makes you forget the bad and come up with the funniest, most ridiculous things. Just like now. I'm sure it was slip of the tongue, but, it sure made me laugh.

When I calmed down, I felt a bit more friendlier toward the chubby dude, and decided to let him in.

A study buddy, huh?

What's the harm, really?


End file.
